


the song has been sung

by dutchydoescoke



Series: where we will, we'll roam [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchydoescoke/pseuds/dutchydoescoke
Summary: When Matthew Cullen is shot for daring to challenge Bartholomew Bogue, Emma does what every pirate fears to do. In the face of the horrors Bogue has unleashed in the name of eliminating piracy, Emma sings the song that every pirate knows without being taught and casts out the summons for the Brethren Court.





	the song has been sung

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for violence, depictions of hangings, minor character deaths including the death of a child. This is based on At World’s End and this includes the opening scene of the film. If you wish to skip that scene, please skip roughly the first dozen paragraphs.
> 
> I also take the Pirates’ route with historical accuracy, in that I try to keep to it for the most part but don’t always succeed in favor of a more cinematic representation of piracy or the historical era or the language used. (Fact: The term rum-runners, as used by Jack in Curse of the Black Pearl, didn’t really exist as a word before the 1920s. The “short drop and sudden stop” method of hanging, to use Norrington’s term, didn’t come into use until the 19th century. Same with the term cigarette, which spawned from the French in the 1830s. The rigging used in the films is also much closer to late 18th century ships than the actual period appropriate, i.e. early 18th century, rigging systems used. I went with the cinematic version.)
> 
> Art by the frankly incredible [diefuss](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/post/177704269875/oh-hey-look-one-more-finished-project-my-piece), who gave me the work of art you can see below that I ecstatic to have.

Matthew died at the hands of Bartholomew Bogue, shot down for daring to step out of the execution line and challenge Bogue on his twisting and extorting of law to declare war on piracy. Emma, hidden away where Matthew shoved her, held her piece tight enough that the grooves of it dug into her palm, Matthew’s tucked into her pocket for Teddy.

The guards removed the bodies from the gallows and ushered the next group up onto the boards. At the sight of the child among them, Emma turned her head away, closing her eyes, and did what every pirate was terrified of.

The moment she opened her mouth, a voice, high and soft and coming from the child, rang out across the courtyard, in near-perfect unison with her own. When she dared to peek out at the gallows, she caught the glint of silver in the sunlight; a piece of eight rested in the boy's hands, catching the song and casting out the summons that Emma felt in her bones.

She couldn’t leave until nightfall, her position too precarious and too easily found, but Emma sang in a voice as quiet as the church mice at her feet and prayed for the souls of the dead.

The execution line picked up the song, with the innate knowledge that all pirates had the moment the chill ran down their back and the wind turned treacherous. In all the years she’d been a pirate, Emma couldn’t remember ever learning the words and yet knew them all the same. It would ring out across the seas, carried by pieces of eight, and catch on the mouths of unsuspecting sailors who talk in their sleep and sing without thought when working. There was a magic to it, of this she knew, wrought into the song by the first Court to ensure a Lord would hear it and heed the summons.

The first words told a story every pirate knew: the tale of how the first Brethren Court convened and bound a sea goddess in human form, taming the seas to sail to the end of their days. In the decades since, no Court had undone it. Most of the song was an affirmation, a reminder that piracy would never cease. A promise that they would never die.

The rest was self-evident; _a call to all_ , the song went.

Emma looked through the crack in the wall of her hiding place and watched the executioner reach for the lever. Her heart dropped with the trapdoor, a hiccough distorting the words she whispered like the prayer they were as her fingers rubbed over the piece in her hand like beads on a rosary.

She whispered until she was hoarse while the sun crept towards the horizon, casting her hiding spot in further shadow. She only looked up to check the sun’s position, a countdown until she could make for the cove where the longboat had been left. Teddy, never one for obeying the Code or orders if he disagreed, had been ordered to take it back to the ship and abandon her if she had been caught. That had been three days past and Emma had little doubt that he would wait, hidden in some dark corner out of sight, until she returned or he found her body.

She hoped he found Matthew’s body before it was dumped. She’d bury him the same way they’d done with crew members over the years; his hammock wrapped around him and laid to rest in the ocean, to sail the seas in the afterlife.

The orange glow faded, her hiding place falling dark, and the soldiers’ steps went with the light, leaving her with only the sound of the wind whistling through a crack in the wood. Emma waited long enough for the patrol to come around and leave before she opened the door, taking only a moment to stretch out limbs that hadn’t moved since dawn for fear of being caught. The tree line was across the road and all she had to do was cross. She pulled out her gun and kept it ready in case any further soldiers came her way.

Leaving the church and its shed at her back, she crossed the road with little sound, her boots worn in enough that they didn’t so much creak. Had she not grown up in Port Royal, the trees would be almost impossible to navigate in the dark, but she knew the layout of the island as well as she knew her ship. The oak tree with the lantern in it was the sign to turn and follow the markings she’d made long ago when she and Teddy played at piracy and declared the cove their own Tortuga. Teddy had been her first mate, her co-captain, even played at being her damsel-in-distress and then rival for a time, climbing a tree she passed like it was the mast of a ship and the branches the crow’s nest.

And there, in the longboat still on the shore, was Teddy himself, shoulders slumped and shaking; the body next to him was enough of an explanation. He’d found Matthew already. Emma was grateful Teddy had been the one to retrieve Matthew’s body. The sight of all of Bogue’s victims would have made her sick. Knowing Teddy and his soft heart, she’d bet that he had been.

“Thank you.” Her voice was still hoarse from singing and prayers but Teddy heard all the same, wiping at his face before he turned to look at her. She pulled Matthew’s piece out of her pocket and held it out to him, fingers shaking the barest amount. “He wanted you to have it.” Teddy looked like his feet had been knocked out from under him and took the piece with a solemn nod. It went into his vest pocket, up next to his heart, the space befitting Matthew’s importance to him. Emma’s own piece was still in her hand so she tucked it away, in a spot that mirrored Teddy’s. No one but Teddy knew that the piece he carried was _hers_ and the piece she held was Matthew’s, a gesture from when they got married and couldn’t afford wedding rings. The piece was the only thing of Matthew’s effects she’d been able to get before his arrest and execution and it had a weight to it that was entirely in her head.

She wondered if Teddy felt the same.

There was a moment where neither of them wanted to adjust Matthew’s body to fit in the boat with enough space for them to be able to row, where the idea of moving her husband’s body made Emma nauseous. She swallowed it down and made herself move. Hidden away as their landing spot might have been, she had little desire to linger in case a patrol made their way through the woods.

The _Gilded Rose_ lay anchored a mile out to sea with sails reefed and merchant’s colours flying as cover until her captains returned.

It took them over a half-hour to reach the ship in the longboat, rowing against the tide like they were. Halfway there, when Preacher’s spyglass could make out their faces, the merchant’s colours disappeared down into the hold, leaving the mast bare. Emma took over rowing, sword calluses uncomfortable against the wood of the oars, the task enough of a distraction to keep her from thinking about the body resting behind Teddy.

Someone tossed rope down when she pulled parallel to the ship and she tied it to the hook at the bow, the ladder following the rope once that was done. Stepping onto the deck without Matthew was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, only made easier by Teddy’s presence at her back and the call still resonating in her bones.

She had to swallow before she could actually speak around the lump in her throat. “Tomorrow, we lay Matthew to rest.”

“After?” Leni asked it, eyebrows raised in a way that conveyed her concern over Matthew’s death. In response, Emma straightened her shoulders and swallowed once more.

“Tortuga.” At the surprise on everyone’s faces at the idea that she would go somewhere like that so soon, she took one of the coins from her pocket and flipped it to Leni. The coin’s ring as it flew through the air told them enough.

She looked up at the mast, still bare, and inhaled, breathing in the sea air and feeling something settle a little as the ship rocked with the waves. Releasing the breath, she opened her eyes and called out orders.

“Loose sails and weigh anchor. I want to be as far from Port Royal by morning as we can manage.” There was a momentary pause where she glanced up at the mast again. “And hoist the colours. Show Bogue he hasn’t gotten all of us.”

Teddy was the one to do it, affixing the flag to the rope and running it up the mast. The flag fluttered in the wind, a skull over crossed roses, and the moonlight caught the gold thread edging the petals. The sight was soothing, a balm on an open wound.

Bogue may have taken her husband, but he wouldn’t take her seas, and Emma would personally deliver him to Davy Jones before he could damage the _Rose_.

\---

Even half a mile out, Sam thought he could hear Tortuga. The crash of broken glass, the crackling of whatever newest fire had been set, the drunken singing of deckhands enjoying their shore leave, all of it was part of the cacophony that was audible from the moment Tortuga became more than a speck on the horizon. The docks were twice as busy as the town and just as ramshackle, though they suited him and the _Vengeance_ well enough.

In the weeks they were at sea, Sam hadn’t had the need to touch the money that was his take of their spoils. Giving it to Beatrice for supplies, he felt _something_ from it and took one of the pieces of eight back, the silver almost vibrating in his hand. With a flip of the coin, the song and its summons rang out, much like a conch shell roared with the sound of the surf. His hand went to his vest pocket, an automatic response to the call, feeling for the piece that rested there. He’d need it when the Court convened.

And he’d do his part to make sure the call was answered as it should be, turning down the uneven and worn-down road to Tortuga’s quietest tavern. Of the nine Pirate Lords, one of them made berth in Tortuga at regular intervals, almost like clockwork, and always in the same tavern, out of the way and small enough to prevent Tortuga’s usual crowds from swarming. The tavern’s interior was as dim as Sam remembered, a single black iron chandelier lighting the entire room, but the bar was clean so Sam ordered a whiskey to kill a moment or two of time. The card game looked almost over and there was plenty of time before he had to leave.

Joshua Faraday sat at the table, cards in one hand and a coin in the other, flipping the coin back and forth over his fingers in a rhythm Sam knew as well as his own heartbeat. Faraday had heard the song and was mouthing the words, silently passing the summons along. Whether or not he deigned to answer remained to be seen.

Sam caught himself humming, the bartender singing to himself, one of the card players tapping out the beat with a coin. If he had been somehow oblivious to the how important the call was, that would have been the clue to figure it out. He’d never heard the song sung before but every story and legend passed around about it spoke of how it never needed very many voices to spread the message. For everyone to pick it up, the situation had to have been the stuff of a pirate’s nightmares. The rumours spoke of horrors bad enough to make a pirate wish for a cannon tied to his bootstraps and left to sink to the ocean floor rather than be caught by Bogue.

The game finished as Sam emptied his shot glass, leaving it on the bar with a coin for the bartender’s tip. The amount of money on the table was at odds with the attitudes of those who lost, most of them wishing Faraday well and with only a few of the others cursing him for his luck. One by one, they left the tavern, the door slamming shut behind each of them, until he and Faraday were left alone with the bartender.

“I heard.” Faraday didn’t even look up from counting his winnings, preemptively answering Sam’s still-unspoken question. “Why now?”

“Bogue. I don’t know for sure, but the rumours paint an ugly picture,” Sam said, removing his hat and settling down in a seat. Before he could relay any of the rumours, the door to the tavern opened again and a woman stepped in, dressed in what could almost be a respectable outfit, were it not for the hat on her head and the weapons on her belt. A companion followed her in, appearing just as respectable. Neither bothered with drinks and walked straight to the table to sit, removing their hats much like Sam had.

“The rumours being passed around are true,” was what the woman opened with. “I’m Captain Emma Cullen of the _Gilded Rose_. This is my co-captain, Teddy Q. I was in Port Royal.” Faraday hissed in what might have been sympathy and Sam concurred. Port Royal was Bogue’s current port of call and, by many accounts, the gates of Hell itself. Emma grimaced, looking a little green around the edges, before continuing. “Mass executions for anyone even remotely related to piracy and even many people who weren’t but were deemed guilty. Martial law was declared and right to trial suspended.”

“ _Shit_.” Faraday said it with all the vehemence the situation deserved. Sam’s mouth tightened at Emma’s description and he caught himself rubbing at the brand on his wrist, an old tell he thought he’d left behind years ago with old ghosts to be blown away by the sea wind. “And the call?”

“I had to watch. Every man, woman and child,” Emma said, choking the last word out in a way that spoke of nightmares she’d suffered and those still yet to come. “My husband was one of them, shot for challenging Bogue. I can’t let him die for nothing.” Sam let her have a moment when she paused again, looking more tired than she had when she came in. “I need your assistance in making sure the other Lords heed the call. We’ll need them all to end this.”

“You want to go to war with _Bogue?_ ” Sam shot Faraday a look thats said this wasn’t the time or the place to argue the concept. The decision for war would be settled when the Court convened and not a moment before. Faraday shrugged and pulled a face that conveyed his scepticism loud and clear.

Sam understood his concern and caution but the time for it had passed. He didn’t know the numbers of Port Royal’s massacre but it was more than enough to justify a war. He wasn’t sure Emma knew what she was getting into, but she wasn’t wrong to summon the Court.

“You understand what it means to start something like this?” Sam didn’t doubt her conviction but he wanted her to go into this with eyes wide open and knowing what a declaration of war entailed.

“We did not start this, Captain.” There was steel in Emma’s tone that matched the sharp look in her eyes and the visible anger crackling like fire under her skin forged both of them into a something she could wield in conversation like a sword in battle. “I will not let us be driven to extinction, nor will I let us run and hide like _cowards_ while thousands die for crimes they didn’t commit.”

Sam understood, in that moment, why Emma had been chosen as the previous Lord’s successor. For all they were pirates, Emma had a sense of justice that was out of place in a town such as Tortuga, in the life they lived. He wondered how she ended up a pirate in the first place but didn’t ask. He doubted Emma’s mood would lend itself to personal questions and changed course.

“I know where Robicheaux and Rocks are. Faraday,” Sam said and Faraday tilted his head in acknowledgement, still flipping the coin over his fingers.

“Goodnight Robicheaux? I thought he’d turned respectable.”

“Not likely.” Sam didn’t offer further explanation. It was up to Goodnight to explain anything about the mess that resulted in the _Fleur-de-lis_ banned from several port towns. The former price on Billy’s head hadn’t helped the situation any. “You can find them in New Orleans. It’s their preferred port for resupplying and trading cargo and they make berth every other month. The _Fleur-de-lis_ is a galleon and the flag has the ship’s namesake over crossed knives, if you see it on the seas. Tell him what you know. Meet me in Nassau when you’re done.”

There was a screeching noise from under the table in response, followed by the sound of nails on wood, and a small black monkey with white fur around its face, in a miniature version of Faraday’s outfit, appeared on Faraday’s shoulder. Faraday, without even looking, picked up one of the coins from the winnings he had yet to put away and handed it to the monkey. The monkey screeched in what Sam guessed was most likely approval, grinning in a way that disturbed Sam. He’d forgotten about Jack.

“This is Jack. He’s killed men before, so be careful,” Faraday said, rubbing at Jack’s cheek with a finger, a gesture that Jack leaned into, still grinning and looking even more disturbing. Sam had seen that monkey with a gun before and had little doubt about his ability to kill someone. Considering the fact that there was a spot of blood on Jack’s cheek, he suspected that’s what Jack had been doing during the game. “New Orleans, you said?”

At Sam’s nod, Faraday started picking his winnings up and tucking them into various pockets. Another coin was passed to Jack, who clutched both of them to himself like a child with a beloved toy. His instincts said it was a bad idea, turning away from the monkey, but Sam ignored them in favour of looking at Emma and Teddy.

“I know where Vasquez is. One of the small islands used by rum-runners,” he said, standing to retrieve his hat. Beatrice, with her sharp tongue and iron will, would have most of the supplies ordered by now and the rest to be delivered before nightfall, leaving them capable of sailing before the midnight bell tolled. “I’ll retrieve him and meet you in Nassau with Faraday.”

Emma stood as well, shoulders straight and the same look of forged steel, and met his eyes. “We’ll come with you, captain. Our second can manage the ship in our stead. We can send them off to Shipwreck while we find Captain Vasquez.”

Sam knew there would be no arguing with her and that Teddy would follow her wherever she went, accepting his defeat with grace and nodding at the pair of them. “If you insist, captains.”

“We do.” Emma picked her hat up and placed it back on her head, tilting the front up to leave the entirety of her face visible. Faraday, finished with gathering his winnings, retrieved his own hat and began towards the door.

“Nassau,” Sam called and Faraday raised a hand in acknowledgement.

Emma and Teddy followed and Sam stepped out last, the sound of the doors knocking together following them.

\---

The rum-runners’ isle was a spit of land with more woods than should, by all rights, be able to fit on it. The forest left a cove, hidden away by the rock and trees and just large enough for a ship to drop anchor and hide for a while, and it was the only thing of note on the island beyond the caches hidden under dead trees and brush coverage.

The _Maria_ was a frigate, sitting anchored in the cove with the sails reefed to prevent straying and the mast left bare of a flag. The only sign of people aboard was the glint of a spyglass in the light, a lookout in case they weren’t fellow pirates but the navy instead. Sam called for a longboat and for the colours to be run up to signify they were friendly. Another glint and the _Maria_ ’s crew hoisted Vasquez’s flag to billow in what little of the sea wind came into the cove. A silver compass rose on a field of black greeted them when Sam held up his own spyglass.

Emma climbed into the longboat with him, wearing a stubborn look that dared him to challenge her on it. But he had been taught better after a week at sea where Emma, still in her skirts and her shoes left on the deck, scaled the rigging like Faraday’s monkey to tie down the topsail before a storm could tear it, despite Sam’s attempts to dissuade her and send Claude to do it. As Emma balanced herself in the longboat, sword held at an angle to avoid getting hooked under the bench, Sam mustered a polite smile and joined her, his own sword left wrapped up on the deck in his belt with his gun tucked neatly alongside it.

Given the price on Vasquez’s head, Sam wanted to give him no reason to be concerned. Even with the Code, a pirate with a bounty high enough to leave him land-bound on an isle little bigger than Tortuga’s docks had the right to be wary of strangers, even ones flying friendly colours.

Unlike Emma, Teddy chose to stay behind, a decision that surprised Sam, given his status as Emma’s second shadow in the brief time Sam had known them. He kept his nose out of his own crew’s private lives; a decision that had treated him well, given some of the behaviour of his crew, so holding his tongue about Emma and Teddy seemed to be the best decision.

The longboat was lowered by Benjamin and John until they hit the water, Sam and Emma loosening the ropes. Emma took first turn at rowing, boots planted against the crossbeam under the bench in front of her to help maintain her balance. Going with the tide, it took less than half an hour to reach the _Maria_ , a rope ladder unfurling down the side for them to use and pair of long ropes were let down to lash the longboat to the ship.

Vasquez’s second, a tall woman in trousers and a vest introduced herself as Kisa and tilted her head in acknowledgement at their own introductions. She turned on her heel, hand raised above her shoulder and fingers crooked in a _follow me_ gesture. She led the pair of them to a weathered cabin door, the paint peeling, and pounded on it with the side of her fist, hard enough that some of the paint flaked off and fell to the ground at her feet.

“Captains Chisolm and Cullen are here to see you,” she called. Something fell and crashed inside the room, followed by cursing in Spanish and the sound of the same something being righted. The door opened after another moment and Vasquez stepped out, looking none the worse for wear despite his prolonged exile.

“Captain Chisolm, it’s been a while,” Vasquez said, grin as wolfish as the last time Sam had seen him, sailing out of Nassau as fast as the wind would take him. At Sam’s nod, he turned to Emma with more restrained smile and dipped his head in greeting. “Captain Cullen, I presume.”

Emma smiled, more out of politeness than anything, and nodded, pulling her hand away from where it had been resting on her sword to shake Vasquez’s hand in greeting. “My apologies over this not being a social visit. The call—”

Vasquez’s smile was wiped away, a grimace appearing in its place. “I heard. I caught myself singing it this morning. Kisa said the crew’s been doing it too. It’s that bad, then?”

“Yes. We’re meeting three of the other Lords in Nassau,” Sam replied, pressing his fingers against the pocket that held his piece like there had been a physical tug on it. It had done that since the song first rang out from the coin, a steady reminder of what was waiting for them. Vasquez himself had reached up to touch his medallion and Emma had a hand resting over her heart, the gestures telling enough about how strong the pull was for all of them. “If you want to come, you can take your ship and sail with us. We’re planning on locating the other two after the meeting. Or you can meet us at Shipwreck.”

Vasquez’s response was as fast as it was surprising. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come with you. Kisa can take the _Maria_ to Shipwreck.” He turned to Kisa, still standing behind him, and asked, “Sí?”

Kisa’s response was profane enough that Sam’s eyebrows shot up in shock. He’d been sailing for a couple of decades and had thought he’d heard every curse word or vulgar twist of phrase a sailor could come up with, but Kisa proved him wrong. Even still, she agreed with a few more choice words for Vasquez before calling for the crew to prepare to set sail and run up the merchant’s colours.

Vasquez himself retreated to his cabin, accompanied by further crashing noises and a string of curses. When he reappeared holding a small trunk, he nodded at Kisa. Sam took the hint and bid goodbye to the rest of the _Maria_ ’s crew, taking the ladder still thrown over the side of the ship down to the longboat. Emma and Vasquez both took the ropes dangling over the ship to get down. With the ropes loosed from their hooks and Vasquez’s trunk resting as close to the middle as possible to keep the boat balanced, Sam took hold of the oars and started the slow trip back to the _Vengeance_.

\---

New Orleans was crowded and busy on the best of days, being one of the few ports to welcome pirates, even those that sailed in with their colours flying. There was a tentative peace treaty between the pirates and the more upstanding citizens of the city, one which prevented theft from those citizens’ homes and allowed the pirates otherwise free reign throughout the city. Most shopkeepers were indiscriminate about their customers, eateries and bars included.

Unlike Tortuga, where finding someone was as easy as knowing whether they preferred to drink in quiet or not, New Orleans had more bars and taverns than most other towns Faraday had set foot in. If Rocks and Robicheaux were at a tavern, Faraday wouldn’t be able to find them before Bogue came after the Brethren Court. With the _Maria_ moored, it wasn’t difficult to climb aloft and look for the _Fleur-de-lis_ to see about cutting that search time short.

Half a dozen ships over, a flag on a galleon billowed in the wind and Faraday lifted his spyglass to see the bright white of crossed knives and the eponymous symbol standing out against the black. There were people in the rigging and on the deck, but he couldn’t be sure any of them were Robicheaux and Rocks from the distance he was at.

Taking hold of the loose rope tied to the top of the mast for support, Faraday dropped to the deck and whistled for Jack. There was something like blood on the monkey’s face and something suspiciously shiny peeking out from his vest but Faraday didn’t bother trying to find out what happened. He knew Jack unsettled people and he liked having what little advantage it gave him. The blood would only help that, though he still dug a rag out of his pocket and handed it to Jack as he walked down the gangplank to the quay. Jack gave an unhappy screech in Faraday’s ear that threatened to deafen him, but scrubbed at the blood anyway.

The _Fleur-de-lis_ ’s crew directed him further down the quay until he found the patch of grass he’d been told to look for. There were two men—two pirates, Faraday realised—facing each other, in duelling stances, one hand tucked behind them, each with one foot pointed forward and sword held in a starting position. As he got closer, the duel started, swords crashing together and flashing in the afternoon light. The duel was quick and ended with the painful screech of metal against metal as the man in black and white twisted the sword out of the other man’s hand and caught it in his other hand.

“Victory to Captain Rocks,” called the judge. The audience that ringed what passed for the duelling field began jeering and booing and calling for a rematch. Rocks, who had wandered over to the companion that could only be Robicheaux, looked unsurprised. There was a moment of silent conversation between Robicheaux and Rocks that appeared to consist of nothing but head-tilts, raised eyebrows and shrugging before Rocks returned to the centre of the field. “Do you agree to a rematch, Captain?”

Rocks’ opponent huffed when Rocks nodded. “How about we do it for real this time? Without those fancy tricks of yours, so you can’t cheat.”

When Rocks won, blood dripping from the end of his sword while his opponent clutched at the cut Rocks had made on his arm, Faraday more surprised by the fact that the opponent had been left alive than Rocks winning. Robicheaux walked around the circle of spectators, hat held out to collect on the bets made by people foolish enough to think Rocks was the inferior duellist. He waited until Robicheaux was finished, Jack vanishing from his shoulder to go pickpocket some unsuspecting person.

“Captain Robicheaux?” he called. Robicheaux didn’t even look up from where he was counting his winnings. Not wanting to be overheard by someone opportunistic, Faraday elbowed his way through the crowd until he reached Robicheaux. “I’m Captain Joshua Faraday. Sam Chisolm sent me.”

Robicheaux stilled and turned to face Faraday with a resignation in his expression that said he knew what this was about. That the song had followed the tide to New Orleans, preceding Faraday enough that Robicheaux knew what was coming. After a minute, the resignation slipped away, replaced by a geniality that Faraday could tell was a front but took him up on the offer of a drink all the same.

“I’ve heard rumours,” Robicheaux said, once they’d been seated at a table in a tavern off the quay, tone conveying the question hidden in the words. Faraday grimaced, which was answer enough for Robicheaux, it seemed. “Never mind that, then. Where are we meeting Sam and his crew?”

“Nassau. How’d you and Rocks meet?” Faraday asked, a transparent attempt to divert the discussion of the war that hung over their heads like a guillotine with Bogue as the executioner. And, frankly, he wanted to know. He was a curious person, he’d admit, and the rumours surrounding Robicheaux and Rocks were as varied as they were colourful and plentiful.

Rocks, who had been smoking in silence since Robicheaux had begun collecting winnings, pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and tilted his head towards his co-captain, having another silent conversation that ended in a shrug from Robicheaux and a nod from Rocks. Faraday looked down at the glass in his hand and watched the rum swish around as he tilted the cup back and forth until Robicheaux spoke again.

“I was a Marine and Billy was on his own shore leave here in New Orleans,” Robicheaux said, with the tone of someone skirting around truths they didn’t want to admit to. “There was a tavern brawl and I watched in _awe_ when he took on the entire room bare-knuckled.” The skirt was more obvious this time, voice hitching on _awe_ in a way that spoke volumes about the accuracy of the rumours surrounding the pair of them. “I watched and said to myself that, even without the treaty, I couldn’t bring myself to arrest someone like Billy, that he was one to befriend.”

Faraday raised his glass and tipped it back, swallowing down the comment on the tip of his tongue with rum in an attempt to avoid offending someone who could, in theory, kill him without much effort. When he set the cup back down on the table, the clunk of glass on wood almost masked the familiar sound of Jack’s nails scratching across the floor and chair before he appeared on Faraday’s shoulder. Jack’s sudden appearance didn’t seem to affect Rocks, whose only reaction was to flip a coin to him, but Robicheaux looked unsettled. Faraday handed the rag from before to Jack, who took it with a screech that said he wasn’t happy, and watched the unease fade some as Jack scrubbed at his face.

Deciding that it might be best to spare Robicheaux the horrors of whatever Jack retrieved from Rocks’ duelling partner, Faraday bid them a goodbye and said he’d see them in Nassau. With the scrape of the chair legs against the floor and a tip of his hat, Faraday left, tavern door swinging shut behind him.

\---

Where Tortuga was dark and had roads that were more rock than dirt, Nassau was bright and sandy, sun-bleached wood and palm trees. For all of Tortuga’s vitality, there was a darkness that crept in around the edges that Nassau lacked, even at night, even when captains were at each other’s throats.

Sam preferred Nassau to most other ports. Even with the constant activity, there was something about the sand and sun that made Sam feel almost at home. It had been in Nassau that he’d found his first ship, brand on his wrist mere weeks old, with a captain in need of a cook with Sam’s skills, and sailed out on the schooner a few days later. Nassau had been the place where he’d gotten the _Vengeance_ , from a different captain he’d served under, the ship given in exchange for the freedom to rejoin the crew whenever the captain had so desired.

Even the East India Company ship Sam could see through the spyglass, sitting anchored off-shore, couldn’t diminish the comfort of seeing Nassau shining in the sun.

The _Vengeance_ remained out of range of the Company ship, colours stowed, waiting for Faraday’s return with Robicheaux and Rocks. Emma was aloft with Teddy, perched on the yardarm of the topsail as if they were birds and keeping a weather eye out for either ship. Despite the tension of the situation, the weeks it had taken them to sail out to Vasquez and then to Nassau had soothed them all somewhat and so Emma and Teddy were calling out shanties to the crew on the decks below, laughing hard enough to almost tip over.

Sam had his eyes on the charts spread out in front of him, compass holding down a corner and pointing to some point to the northeast of their location where Bogue lay in wait for the Court to convene. Shipwreck was a week’s sail from Nassau if the wind held and Sam knew the people that remained in Shipwreck and called it home were capable of having ships ready to sail between the toll of the midnight hour and dawn and leave enough time for a drink or two.

There was a momentary lull as the final bars of a shanty faded from the air, drowning under the dull roar of the surf and the cry of seagulls, before Emma began the next one, leaning into Teddy as she did, all previous grievances seemingly forgotten. Sam was familiar with the choice and mouthed along with what he recalled until a shout from above cut through the tune.

“ _Maria_ to the southeast,” Emma called over the voices of the crew, everyone falling silent in the wake of the news. Sam picked up a pencil and began sketching out rough plans for the battle looming over their heads, waiting for the ships to be close enough to communicate. Something about his posture must have been answer enough for Emma, who started the song up again. “ _Jolly sou’wester, boys, steady she goes!_ ”

He knew when the crew started stirring that the _Maria_ and _Fleur-de-lis_ were close, putting his pencil down on the mess of marks he’d made while figuring how to maximise their forces against Bogue’s inevitable armada. Even using his own experience, his own memories of skirmishes that ended with ships on fire and men at the bottom of the ocean, he needed someone with better knowledge of naval strategy, like Robicheaux. Horne would be an asset if he could be found, but it would be impossible unless the song had found him. Horne hadn’t been seen on landfall in the decade since his last ship had gone up in flames on Bogue’s order, taking his wife and children with it.

On the deck, the shanty changed again, echoed by the members of the other ships as they neared.

“ _Weigh-heigh, and up she rises!_ ”

The last Lord would be harder to track down, even more than Horne. That Lord had vanished without a trace from the seas a year prior with little more than rumour about what might have occurred beyond that Bogue was involved, but Sam couldn’t be sure of that. Even as far-reaching as Bogue’s treachery was, having it affect so much of the Court seemed unlikely, given his own history and the price on Vasquez’s head, but it wasn’t impossible. He hoped that, whoever the replacement was, they held enough of a grudge to want to join them at Shipwreck and fight.

“Sam Chisolm!” The voice calling his name was familiar and Sam looked up to see the _Fleur-de-lis_ had sailed parallel to the _Vengeance_ and Goodnight Robicheaux standing on the bridge of his own ship. When Sam raised a hand in greeting, Goodnight took hold of a rope and swung himself over to land on the _Vengeance_ ’s deck. Sam all but skipped down the steps to greet him, throwing his arms around Goodnight’s shoulders. “You’re quite the sight to see with a storm on our backs like this.”

“Bogue’s a bit rougher than a storm, Captain,” Emma said, dropping to the deck with a grace that shouldn’t be possible for someone in full skirts like she was.

“Well, when we beat him soundly, there’ll be a squall either way,” Goodnight replied, a genial smile on his face as he offered his hand to Emma in greeting. Sam closed his eyes for a moment in a silent, mournful prayer for his patience in anticipation for what could be weeks of jokes like those. “You can call me Goodnight. And this is Billy.” Goodnight waved a hand towards Billy, who stood on the bridge of the _Fleur-de-lis_ and tipped his hat in acknowledgement of them.

“Emma Cullen of the _Gilded Rose_. And that would be my co-captain, Teddy Q.” Emma gestured up to where Teddy still sat on the yardarm and hollered shanties to the other ships’ crews. When he noticed the group of them looking up at him, Teddy took hold of the same rope Emma had and fell to the deck, bare feet slapping against the wood. 

Teddy’s relocation seemed to get the attention of Vasquez, who climbed down from his perch on the port shroud, equally barefoot. With hair ruffled by the sea wind and a grin stretching across his face, he looked to be in better spirits than when they’d found him. Before Vasquez could introduce himself, there was the clatter of another set of boots landing on the deck, a sign that they’d been joined by the last member of their curious band, the yip that could only have come from that demonic monkey confirming Faraday’s identity.

“Oh, good, we’ve got a Mexican,” Faraday said, in a tone that promised trouble. Sam looked up in time to catch the grin on Faraday’s face, one that managed to guarantee twice as much trouble as his tone. He let himself hope Vasquez could wait until after the battle ahead to murder Faraday. Vasquez, for his part, just gave the same wolfish grin that he wore when greeting Sam, an obvious threat to get even with whatever Faraday could do.

Sam chose to blame the headache brewing behind his eyes on the bright noon sun shining down on them and looked back at Goodnight instead of dealing with the pair any further. They needed to plan how to clear the East India Company out of Nassau because they needed the gossips for any information on the last of the Lords, and Goodnight was one of the only ones with enough knowledge for planning such an assault.

\---

One advantage to Nassau, as a pirate’s port first and foremost, was that there were more ways in and out of the town without ever setting foot on or near the main docks than there were grains of sand on the beach. It was an advantage they used to slip in without gaining the attention of the Marines stationed throughout the town or standing guard at the docks themselves.

Faraday came in from the west, winding through buildings and nameless alleys to get to the centre of town, Vasquez on his heels. Jack was tasked with distraction until the fight started, keeping the soldiers attention off of them to aid their attempts at stealth. Goodnight had taken the long way around to come in from the east and Vasquez would split off to approach from the north. The locals were hidden in buildings, leaving the streets of Nassau as quiet as the cemetery on the hill, a silence that unnerved even him. Nassau was nothing if not lively and to see it so still left him uneasy.

Aside from a single near-miss when a patrol passed their alley, they managed to get to the centre of town, hiding behind laundry and barrels and waiting for the opportune moment or Sam’s cue. Sam himself was coming up straight from the docks, a long, slow entrance in full view of the Marines, with Billy by his side. The Marines were more on edge the further into town Sam and Billy walked.

“This town has a ban on weapons,” one of the Marines called as Sam stepped into the square. “You’ll have to turn yours in.”

“Of course,” Sam said, tone nothing but amiable, with the ring of metal on metal to indicate he’d pulled his sword out of its sheath to hand over. “I’m happy to obey the law, sir.” 

There was a pause before one of the other Marines asked about Billy, adding, “His knives too.”

“Of course,” Sam repeated, still perfectly cordial. “He’ll be happy to. But I can’t say the same for my companions behind you.”

Taking his cue, Faraday pushed up off the wall and strolled out of the alley, hand resting on the hilt of his sword and ready to draw at any time. Vasquez appeared to the left, further up the square, and Goodnight stepped out from behind a stack of crates. There was a tension in the air that reminded Faraday of a storm brewing, electricity in the air and making his bones itch for _something_. But it was Sam’s cue, so Faraday waited.

Emma and Teddy were on the rooftops somewhere with a bundle of rifles between them, pillaged from the barracks. Emma was stealthy when she needed to be, not even so much as a creak under her feet, and he suspected none of the Marines patrolling around the barracks knew they’d even been robbed. The Marines inside were dead, Faraday knew. Emma was as blood-thirsty as she was stealthy when it came to the Marines that worked for Bogue.

And then—

Something shifted. The wind carried the scent of blood from the south, whipping through town and presenting its proof of Emma and Teddy’s success. Something glinted off one of the roofs and he caught sight of Emma’s hair, bright red in the afternoon sun, her rifle pointed at the head of the Marine in front of Sam. Sam’s eyes flicked up in her direction once for less than a second and he inclined his head in such a slow motion that it looked more like a stretch.

The shot rang out in the dead silence, the Marine’s hat flying off while he crumpled, blood pooling on the ground from the hole in his head, Emma’s aim as impeccable as she claimed. There was another moment where no one moved, where even the wind seemed to still, before the square burst into motion.

Faraday had his gun out and fired before the nearest Marine could even aim his rifle. He drew his sword and knocked another soldier’s bayonet aside, sending the ball flying into the dirt. His sword went through the Marine’s gut with a sickening squelch before he withdrew it, blood dripping from the tip. It went flying when he swung his sword around at another Marine, the red staining the white vest before another stain bloomed like a macabre flower around where the blade was stabbed into the soldier’s chest.

He backed up, pulling his sword out and ignoring the sound of steel on bone when it scraped the dead Marine’s ribs. A pair of soldiers wielding swords instead of guns charged at him and Faraday ducked their swings, metal crashing together above him. He twisted as he dropped and held his sword out to cut both of them across the middle. Both of the Marines dropped like stones and he stood, glancing around to see how the others were doing.

The rain of gunshots above his head told Faraday that Teddy and Emma were more than keeping up with the rest of them. Several of Billy’s kills were pinned to the wall like butterflies to a board, held up by the knives through them, some of them still bleeding out. Sam had a ring of bodies around him in a way that was almost organised in a neat little ring. In contrast, Vasquez’s victims were sprawled about much like his own, red staining the brick road and slicking it up. On their boots, worn in on ships with wood smoothed by time and traffic and soaked to saturation in seawater, it presented little challenge, but the Marines slipped in it in their shiny shoes that were new enough that the soles still creaked.

There were none around Goodnight. Not a body, not a bloodstain, not even a stray rifle. The sword in Goodnight’s hand was still clean, shining in the sunlight, and there was a haunted look on his face that spoke of nightmares showing themselves in the broad light of day. What ghosts whispered in his ear, Faraday didn’t know, but rage started simmering beneath the surface of his skin when he realised that Goodnight had let them believe that he’d be of use in the fight when it was a lie, when he couldn’t even point his sword at another living thing.

A crash from behind reminded him that the fight wasn’t over and he turned in time to block the swing aimed at his shoulder. He parried the next, catching the soldier on the arm and stabbing him through the stomach to finish him. He saw the next one coming from far enough away that he managed to dodge the thrust intended for his stomach and cut the soldier’s throat when he ended up behind him.

He took a step back from that body, letting the blood fall from his sword for a moment, and startled when he felt someone’s back against his own. The string of Spanish profanity told him who it was before he did something stupid, like tried to stab without looking on the chance that it was a soldier behind him. But it was Vasquez, so he took advantage of someone having his back to reload his pistol, swearing when he dropped the bullet and had to dig out another.

Gun reloaded, Faraday fired at the soldier aiming for the back of Sam’s head, sending the Marine sprawling onto the brick. Sam caught his eye and nodded his thanks, Faraday nodding in return before turning back to the fight. With Vasquez at his back, it was easier, only having to worry about what he could see in front of him, and the remaining Marines were dead by the time the clock tower tolled out the top of the hour.

Just as one of the two remaining Marines in the square was shot down by Emma on the roof, there was an explosion from the harbour and Faraday jerked his head around just in time to see the East India Company ship go up in flames.

“What are the odds that’s one of our missing Lords?” Goodnight asked, still-clean sword sliding back into its sheath. With the scrape of metal against metal, Faraday’s anger came back, clawing at his patience, and he turned his attention to wiping the blood off his sword with the rag he often reserved for cleaning Jack’s face. He didn’t want to stir something up, not with war nipping at their heels.

“Not sure. We’ll find out soon enough,” Sam said and turned to the sole survivor of the Marines, a lieutenant of Bogue’s, if Faraday was right and the Marine in question was McCann. Billy had one of the dropped rifles aimed at McCann’s head and Sam had his sword out still, a silent warning to keep in line. “I have a message for your boss.”

“You already sent him one,” McCann answered, nodding in the direction of the cloud of smoke blooming on the water. “You’re not gonna like the answer.”

“Tell him the Court is coming for him,” Emma said from behind McCann. Faraday wasn’t sure when she climbed down from the roof, but she stood there, the sharp look from that first meeting back in her eyes. “Tell him that there will be no deals, no agreements. Tell him that this is going to end in his death.”

“You really think a half-dozen washed-out pirates are going to even get close to him? With the fleet?” McCann asked, turning his head enough to look at her. Emma smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing. It promised pain and bloodshed and retribution. Faraday swallowed and, in that moment, understood why Jack unnerved people so much.

“Tell him Matthew, like the gospel. Matthew Cullen. Port Royal.”

Sam added his own message, scraping his sword against the brick to get McCann’s attention again. “Sam Chisolm. Anguilla.”

“Francisco Vasquez, Florida,” Vasquez said, still behind Faraday, and sounding like he was ready to aim those shiny pistols of his at McCann’s head as if he could manage to shoot Bogue by proxy.

“Red Harvest. Havana,” a new voice called and Faraday turned to see a kid that couldn’t be any older than the cook’s aide on the _Maria_ was, and Zachary was only seventeen. The kid—Red Harvest—had soot streaked over his face and arms, explaining who was responsible for blowing up the East India Company ship. When no one said anything, Red Harvest pulled a cord from around his neck and held it up, showing the stone hanging from it. He said something else, in a language Faraday wasn’t familiar with.

Sam seemed to understand and translated for them. He was one of the missing Lords, replacing the one that Faraday had never met. His captain had vanished, naming Red his successor and leaving the piece, and that was all anyone knew. If Red Harvest knew anything else, he didn’t say.

McCann was still standing in front of Sam, Billy’s rifle still aimed at him, waiting. Faraday considered shooting him, message be damned, but the fact that the fight was personal for four of their number tempered the urge. He reloaded his pistol anyway, just in case he needed it, and waited for Sam or Emma to speak.

“Go. Tell him what we said. And remind him that even if he kills us, someone will always resurface to challenge him,” Emma said, drawing her pistol to aim at his head. “Go on. Get. There’s a sailboat sitting at the docks you can take.”

The boat sitting in the harbour—and it was a _boat_ , not a ship, almost a dinghy—had a sail, one that Faraday could tell was ratty and falling apart even from a distance. McCann took the opportunity he was offered and bolted, shiny shoes sliding in the still-slick blood on the street, almost falling as he ran. Faraday sighed and tucked his pistol back into his belt, whistling as loud as he could. A minute later, he heard nails on brick and waved a hand towards the bodies, signalling for Jack to go ahead.

“That monkey is creepy,” Billy said, looking at Jack, who was exploring the pockets of the dead soldiers.

“How’d we do?” Sam was the one to ask with a wave of his hand to indicate the bodies piled around them.

Billy was the first to answer and nodded towards the walls where the bodies still were. “I had seven.”

“I had seven,” Faraday offered, whistling for Jack again. He felt Jack climb up his back to perch on his shoulder and held up the rag for him to wipe his face with. Vasquez, in contrast to the rest of their number, looked neither disturbed nor disgusted by the blood that was, inevitably, all over Jack. There was a moment where Vasquez shoved his hand into his vest pocket and withdrew a coin before flipping it towards Jack, who caught it with a skill that a monkey shouldn’t be capable of. There was a screech of approval and Vasquez _smiled_ , like he found Jack cute or charming instead of creepy. “What did you get?”

“Seven,” Vasquez said, working on reloading his gun and not paying any of them much attention. There was something about Vasquez that made Faraday want to win, at least a little, so Faraday cleared his throat and amended his answer.

“Eight. I got eight.” It was a lie, and a blatant one, so Vasquez’s scoff wasn’t surprising. Faraday grinned the way that made people nervous and said, “you want to try and tie it up?”

Vasquez looked back up and met his eyes, an answering smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Say when, güero.”

\---

Of Nassau’s constants, the gossip and its reliability was one of the most useful. Dan had been manning the bar at Josiah’s tavern and served up a round of complimentary drinks in thanks for clearing the Marines out of town. It only took a few pleasantries and a few coins to get what news there was out of Dan.

“A few of the crew who’ve been through reported seeing a bear of a man on one of the spits east of Shipwreck,” Dan had said, wiping a dirty cloth over the bar in an attempt at cleaning it. Dickie and Earl, in the back, were supposed to be washing the cleaning rags, but Sam had a feeling it had morphed into one of the brothers’ usual water wars. “One of the rum-runners’ isles.”

“Thank you,” Sam had replied and tossed Dan another coin before retreating to the _Vengeance_ , where the rest of the Lords had congregated. He didn’t know when or why they decided that his ship was the best spot to meet or that it would be his ship they would travel on to find Horne instead of their own, but Sam suspected Emma and Teddy volunteering themselves to travel with him was what started it and everyone else just followed their lead. Were it not for the war hanging over their heads, the threat of Bogue tearing them to shreds without proper back-up, Sam would have thrown them all off already.

“ _She’s lonely on the foreyard, she’s lonely down below, boys!_ ”

Climbing onto his ship felt like running into a wall composed of nothing but noise. There were songs being yelled back and forth, the _Fleur-de-lis_ and Faraday’s _Maria_ crews sitting on their respective ships, anchored with their sails still reefed, creating a chorus loud enough that Sam could have heard the roar of it from the longboat on his way back. In addition to the hollered shanties, one of Faraday’s crew, a woman whose name Sam didn’t know, stood in a duelling pose, sword held out in front of her, facing Emma. One of the crew whistled and the duel began, swords ringing as they met in the light from the moon above them.

Sam waved Goodnight over and nodded in the direction of his cabin, where it was darker without the easy illumination of the moon except for what was reflected off the water, but cooler and quieter. Goodnight closing the door behind himself muffled the noise further and Sam lit a lamp on his desk to give them some light.

“Horne’s been spotted near Shipwreck,” Sam said. He shifted a few books around the desk so he could see the map of the Caribbean that was underneath. The compass that was often tied to his belt was sitting on one of the map corners, arrow pointed northeast still. With Shipwreck to the west, they had a while before Bogue would be upon them but Sam didn’t want to push their luck. “The _Vengeance_ sails at first light.”

The night was spent working out strategy and tactics with Goodnight for the upcoming fight. Even if Horne didn’t want to take part, they had enough of the Court to issue a declaration of war without violating the Code, as long as they could do what the previous Courts failed to and manage to elect a King. The only Court that had succeeded had been the first, back when the song had been written and the magic wrought to bind a goddess in human form. Or so Tia Dalma had told him, once upon a time when he was a boy and she was no younger than she had been when he last saw her, a few years back.

Perhaps going to war was enough to warrant a second King. Looking out at the horizon in the predawn light, Sam hoped it was.

The _Maria_ and the _Fleur-de-lis_ sailed on ahead to Shipwreck, but their captains were asleep on the _Vengeance_ ’s deck, hammocks and blankets used for makeshift bedrolls. Jack was asleep on Faraday’s head, which didn’t surprise Sam, since the monkey didn’t often approach anyone that wasn’t already dead or dying. Billy and Goodnight were next to each other, a carefully-maintained distance between their bedrolls that was made moot by their clasped hands that Goodnight’s jacket failed to cover. Emma and Teddy were, as far as Sam knew, still down in their cabin together. Vasquez was in the rigging somewhere, though Sam didn’t know where or if he was asleep. Red Harvest was on his ship, the _Arrow_ on its way to Shipwreck, ahead of Goodnight and Faraday’s ships with a speed Sam hadn’t thought possible of a brigantine.

Compass still pointing northeast, Sam pointed the _Vengeance_ westward to Shipwreck, and kept a weather eye out for the isle Dan had mentioned.

\---

The rumours had proved true. Jack Horne, captain of the _North Star_ , was on a rum-runners’ isle not dissimilar from the one Sam found Vasquez on, with a cove surrounded by cliffs and caches around the island that hid everything from rum to rubies. There were less woods, less obvious places for a man of Horne’s size to hide, but Sam had little doubt as to whether or not Horne used the hiding places built into the island.

Someone had beaten them there, a schooner that looked to be falling apart with more holes than canvas in her sails anchored just off-shore. The frigate nearby was in better shape and a glimpse through the spyglass showed the white-on-black embroidered star chart of the _North Star_ ’s colours being lowered from the mainmast in jerky motions, like the people pulling it down weren’t familiar with it. The angle from the longboat prevented Sam from seeing who was stealing the flag, but the tide was with them and they got to the _North Star_ before the thieves left, both of them still standing on the deck when Sam climbed up the ladder still hanging over the side of the ship.

The pair of them looked like they’d been chewed up and spit back out by the mythical Kraken, rough and ragged in appearance, and they argued like the siblings that Sam sometimes missed so much, his heart hurt. They didn’t seem to notice their audience until Sam cleared his throat to get their attention and startled them both. They held the flag between them as if they intended to fold it for easier transport and forgot.

“Might I ask what you’re intending to do with that.” Sam said. It wasn’t a question. He looked at the embroidered silver of the star chart in their hands to emphasise what he meant. The brothers straightened with matching smug expressions, reminiscent of a cat that caught a troublesome bird.

“There’s a fort offering a thousand dollars for proof of Horne’s death,” one of them said and held up his end of the flag. “Flag will do.”

“You have no _body?_ ” Faraday asked from where he leaned against the railing. Vasquez was up on the shroud next to him, amused by the entire thing, with Jack sitting on the rope rung next to his shoulder.

“Well, Len smashed a rock on his head when he was away from his crew. Fell off a cliff and into the water,” the other one explained, nodding to his brother, who still looked smug.

“Snuck up on him, huh?” Despite knowing Goodnight for as long as he had, Sam didn’t know how Goodnight could manage to sound so condescending and insulting with only a handful of words. He wasn’t surprised when the brother referred to as Len got annoyed at Goodnight’s tone, though it took a few more moments than Sam expected for the words to sink in.

“Just what the hell are you trying to imply—” Len was cut off by an axe landing in his chest, knocking him backward with surprising force. Sam turned to see a water-logged Jack Horne approach, stepping out of the way. The other brother began backing up and tripped over the flag, crashing to the deck next to Len. Horne strode across the deck toward the brother and Sam looked away just as Horne’s leg came down on the brother’s head and a sickening _crack_ rang out. He had little doubt that the brothers deserved what Horne did to them, but he didn’t want to see it.

“I have a right, by the Lord, if not by the law, to take back what belongs to me,” Horne said and Sam turned back in time to see him collect the flag before the blood from the brothers’ bodies could stain it. He retrieved the axe next, wiping the head off with a rag from his belt. “Are we in agreement?”

Goodnight, succeeding rather well in keeping a calm facade, shrugged and nodded. Horne looked satisfied by the motion and turned to the mast and began reattaching the flag.

“Captain, I assume you know why we’re here,” Sam said and rested a hand on his compass. With the battle looming over their heads coming up so soon, he wanted to check if it had changed, if Bogue was any closer to them. But the needle would only show direction, not distance, and it wouldn’t be any different than it had been in the morning when Sam checked it against the sun’s position.

“ _Pay heed the squall and turn your sails to home,_ ” Horne said and it was answer enough. The song had followed the wind and the tide and found him, passing on the warning.

“Will you join us at Shipwreck Cove for the meeting?” Sam asked. They could do this without Horne, but he would prefer the full Court. It would make for a better stand against Bogue, if nothing else.

“ _With the keys to the cage and the Devil to pay, we lay to Fiddler’s Green._ ”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and nodded in Horne’s direction in acknowledgement, despite Horne facing away. With a silent prayer of thanks to Calypso, he bade goodbye and returned to the longboat. They were halfway back to the _Vengeance_ when Sam turned and saw the _North Star_ ’s colours get run up, flapping in the wind.

\---

Some part of Teddy had been looking forward to the Court assembling. The rest of him was still devastated over Matthew, still hurting over having to find and carry his husband’s body back to the longboat and praying to whomever listened that he wouldn’t be finding Emma’s body as well. It had gotten easier, in the weeks since, but it still made his heart ache in ways that might never fade. But the meeting was a bright spot, an eye in the hurricane of Bogue’s treachery, and not just for the promise it held for the future.

In Court tradition, none of the Lords could be armed when they approached the table for their seats. Many of them carried only a sword and a pistol, perhaps an occasional knife, so disarming took little time. Their weapons were removed and placed in a locking chest and the key given to the Lord for retrieving their weapons later.

Teddy didn’t carry much and took one of the smaller chests, dropping his sword, pistol and few knives into it and closing the lid. He locked it and took the key, tucking it into his pocket and taking a seat. He watched the rest of them disarm; Horne had his axe in addition to his sword and pistol and Billy had his collection of knives, but many of the Court had little in terms of weapons.

And then it was Emma’s turn. Teddy propped his feet up on the table and watched her pull the biggest available chest out to use. She lifted the lid and stood upright, reaching for her belt. Teddy grinned.

First was the belt, with her sword and pistol. Then her hat came off and she took a moment to pull three knives out of it and drop them into the chest, the pin that doubled as a fourth knife was also removed and added to the pile. Her vest came off, falling into the chest and making a loud _thud_ that belied what might have been hidden in it. It revealed the holster underneath that held another four guns, smaller than her main pistol. The rest of the Lords were frozen at that point and Teddy’s grin widened when Emma’s hand went into the front of her shirt and she retrieved a pair of bombs. She removed the holster and guns and set them in the chest, hitting the wood with a _thunk_.

“How much does she _have?_ ” Faraday muttered, sounding bewildered. Teddy covered his mouth with his hand, not wanting to laugh at them outright. He’d watched her equip all of them that morning, helping her lace up the corset in the quiet of their cabin, and had been looking forward to seeing her take them back off for this.

The pile of knives that came out of Emma’s corset had Billy looking impressed, as did the knives she pulled from her boots. Then she held up one hand for balance and reached under her skirt with the other, jerking her arm back out after a moment of awkward movement. When her hand came back out, there was a blunderbuss in her hand, retrieved from its holster on her thigh. The choked noise from several of their number had Teddy losing what little composure he had and he started laughing.

“This is one of her light days,” he said, when he stopped to breathe. “She normally carries twice that.”

Emma closed the lid and locked the chest before joining them at the table. She rested her hands on the top and leaned on them, eyebrows raised and tapping one finger on the wood.

“If you gentlemen are done,” she said, looking at all of them in turn. They settled in their seats, falling silent at the look on her face. It was the same look she’d worn when she came back from Port Royal, the one that threatened to make Bogue regret everything in his life and make his allies suffer the same. “I’ll start this the traditional way, as according to the Code of the Order of the Brethren, as set forth by Morgan and Bartholomew of the second Court. I’m Captain Emma Cullen of the _Gilded Rose_. I present my piece of eight as proof of identity.” With that, she pulled her piece out, a small warped piece of metal that Teddy knew was once an old bookmark, and tossed it into the bowl at the centre of the meeting table. “The song has been sung and the summons issued because Bogue is coming. I don’t know if he can find Shipwreck, but he will do everything in his power to eradicate piracy. Teddy?”

“Captain Teddy Q, also of the _Gilded Rose_ ,” he said and dragged up the memories he would rather forget as he dropped the broken sword tip that was his piece into the bowl with Emma’s. “Port Royal was hell. I saw mass graves of those condemned for the crime of even speaking to pirates. Unknowingly. His intent is to kill every last one of us.”

Sam went next, tossing an old musket ball into the bowl, and clearing his throat before adding, “Sam Chisolm of the _Vengeance_. He not only targets pirates, but good folk who haven’t done anything but an honest day’s work, if they get in his way. If they fight, he brands them pirates to justify hunting them.”

It went around the table that way, pieces put in the bowl and names given, sharing their own opinions about Bogue and his brutality. Red Harvest spoke of how Bogue’s treachery resulted in the loss of his captain and ship, leaving him to start from the beginning. Vasquez told them how Bogue was responsible for the price on his head and the near death of some of his crew left him with little choice but to hide out. Horne didn’t tell them anything specific about what happened to him, but even Teddy had heard the rumours about it, during late nights with the crew on the way from Nassau.

With their identities proved, Emma knocked on the table to make sure she had their attention again.

“I recognise that, historically, the Brethren Court has not been capable of reaching a decision unless pressed. We are pressed today, so I’d like to call for a vote for the Pirate King,” Emma said, in a clear, crisp tone that Teddy had only ever heard when she was giving difficult orders or funeral rites. “I, myself, aim to fight Bogue with all that we have, to unleash the full fury of the Court and its people on him, and wipe him from the map like he would us.”

“Traditionally, every Lord votes for himself.” Teddy knew that if this didn’t end in a declaration of war, Emma was going to string him up by his toes for saying that, so he continued. “With that in mind, I vote for Captain Emma Cullen of the _Gilded Rose_.”

One by one, the others cast their votes and Teddy smiled at the look of childish delight that Emma struggled to conceal when the vote finished. He remembered being children, running around Port Royal and the surrounding woods and playing at pirates, saying that one day, they’d see Tortuga and sail on a ship and maybe become captains. He remembered their first ship, a little thing that barely held them, and how happy she had been at introducing herself as _captain_.

“So, Captain Cullen, King of the Brethren Court, orders?” Sam asked and Emma’s delight faded as she turned serious.

“Prepare every vessel that floats and run the men through duelling drills. At dawn the day after tomorrow, we’re at war.”

\---

Shipwreck’s docks managed to be more chaotic than even Tortuga and still maintained enough of a level of organisation for crew to be able to tell which of two identical barrels of gunpowder belonged to which ship. It was noisy and busy but something about the declaration of war lightened everyone, just a little. Like being told they could fight back made all of them less nervous. It wouldn’t surprise him. Even the nicest of the crews were blood-thirsty lots.

There was an underlying beat to everyone’s movements and work that were impossible to miss. Once the singing started, everyone picked it up, a cheerful affirmation of the lifestyle they’d come to embrace, whether or not they entered it by choice.

“ _We’re rascals and scoundrels, villains and knaves!_ ”

Sam walked through the docks and caught himself singing along. He reminded himself that for all he hadn’t chosen this life, that the _P_ branded on his wrist was not hard-earned like it was for some people here, but that he had fallen into it anyway. He had made his life on the _Vengeance_ , hitting merchant ships for money and moving it through the Guthries in Nassau, all to remain free to sail without the pain of his past anchoring him down. It had taken him enough years to be able to look back at his memories of his sisters with fondness instead of pain, for the sorrow to be muted, years of staring out at the light reflecting off the water to sun-bleach them and make them seem golden and good.

The duelling drills were being run by Goodnight and Billy on the _Fleur-de-lis_ , where the sound of metal striking metal rang through the air. Goodnight stood on the capstan and called out movements in a voice that Sam hadn’t heard since Goodnight had left the Marines. The men on the deck were paired off, including Red Harvest facing off against Vasquez and Billy had found a partner to practice with, leaving Goodnight with only Faraday for company. Faraday was perched on the edge of the capstan, though Jack was over by Vasquez, off to the sidelines enough to be out of the way but still on the opposite side of the ship from Faraday.

He leaned against the railing and listened to Goodnight explain to the men how to compensate for the rocking of the ship and how to put more force into a swing without exhausting themselves. Some of them didn’t need reminding, but many had made more permanent homes in Shipwreck and could use the guidance.

Faraday grew tired of it after some time and got up off the capstan, boots smacking against the deck. He pulled off his hat and dropped it on the deck next to where Billy’s things were before turning to Goodnight. Sam watched it all, with a strong suspicion of how this would go.

“Why don’t you demonstrate?” Faraday asked, gesturing to the sword at Goodnight’s hip. “If you are as good as you say, inspire them.”

“I haven’t anyone to demonstrate _with_ ,” Goodnight said, as if Faraday hadn’t been waiting for an opening like that. Sam had seen the ghosts over Goodnight’s shoulder and the haunted look in his eyes and wondered if Goodnight would even be able to fight. Having Faraday there to get answers to that question was a relief Sam would never admit to.

Faraday drew his sword and stepped back, waving a hand at the spot he’d just vacated. Goodnight narrowed his eyes and glanced up at Sam, who kept his face blank and passive, a clear sign he wasn’t getting involved. Goodnight, irritation in every inch of his face, got down and drew his own sword, holding it up and stepping into a duelling stance, one that Faraday mirrored.

No one called for them to start, there was no audible cue, but Faraday and Goodnight moved at the same time, Faraday swinging and Goodnight parrying with ease. For every step Faraday made, Goodnight matched it, swords coming together in a noisy crash that made Sam’s hair stand on end. Their swords rang as they withdrew but where Faraday stopped to breathe, Goodnight pushed forward, a twisting thrust that caught Faraday’s sword and almost wrenched it from his grip. Faraday managed to hold onto it, but just barely.

Stepping back again, Faraday held up his sword in a blocking pose and winced when Goodnight brought his own sword down in another painful crash. Faraday sidestepped Goodnight’s next thrust and parried the follow-up swing, but it wasn’t enough to save him. Once Goodnight got him on the defencive, it didn’t last long, Goodnight hooking his blade around the guard and flipping it out of Faraday’s hand. The sword landed on the deck behind them, but Goodnight didn’t seem to notice, pressing his advantage and pinning Faraday to the ground, sword point in his face.

There was a moment where everything went still before Goodnight sheathed his sword, and stalked off to his cabin, slamming the doors behind him. Sam watched everything, relieved to see that Goodnight was still capable of fighting, even if not actually able to. Faraday stood and retrieved his own sword before glancing over at him with a shrug, like he didn’t know what was going on either.

\---

The night before they sailed, the meeting room was full of people and alcohol, the Lords at the table and everyone else spread out across the room.

Teddy and Emma sat together at one end of the table, sharing a bottle of rum, and every so often, Teddy leaned in and kissed her cheek until she laughed. Sam was talking with Preacher about something that Faraday couldn’t hear, though it seemed serious. Faraday was at the other end of the table from Emma and Teddy, Vasquez on one side, Goodnight on the other, with Billy and Horne near him. Red Harvest was sitting _on_ the table, eating food that looked like a Cajun meal Faraday had once in New Orleans and never touched again after it set his mouth on fire. Red Harvest appeared unaffected by the spice and ate it like it was one of the best things he’d tasted in weeks.

Goodnight had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, leaning against Billy and laughing at something Vasquez was saying about the crew on his ship, a story involving Kisa and Carlos. Billy looked more amused by Goodnight’s laughter than the story itself but paused in his eating to listen anyway, a fork in his right hand with his left arm wrapped around Goodnight’s shoulders. It seemed that enough alcohol and the threat of possible death hanging over their heads gave them the motivation to quit pretending. It was sweet enough to rot his teeth.

“And then Carlos just does this—” Vasquez smacked his lips like he’d just tasted something odd and started laughing again. “And he says ‘cherry lime.’”

Faraday had missed the set-up for the joke, but he laughed anyway and took a sip from the bottle in front of him. Jack had abandoned him and sat perched on Vasquez’s shoulder, trying to grab at Vasquez’s medallion and failing. He almost fell, reaching too far, Vasquez catching him and carefully returning him to his previous spot. Faraday wondered if Jack was starting to like Vasquez more or something. At least if he died tomorrow, Jack would have someone to take care of him. It was a maudlin thought, but one that Faraday let himself run with. He tried not to be too serious as a rule, but he cared about Jack and wanted to make sure he’d be cared for.

It was too much for the moment, though, so Faraday sat up and grinned at Vasquez. He pulled out his pistol and said, “I’d like you all to meet my wife.” The joke wasn’t very funny, but Faraday took it for all it was worth, like one of his games, and only tucked it away when he got Billy to crack a smile.

The guillotine over their heads would come down in the morning, so Faraday ignored it and tipped the bottle back for another drink.

\---

Goodnight was almost silent when he crept down the dock from the _Fleur-de-lis_ , a bag slung over one shoulder and a rifle in another. Sam only knew of it because he had suspected it would happen. After the duelling practise, Goodnight had withdrawn from people, except Billy, and it wasn’t a surprise to see him sneaking off.

“You’re just going to run off before we send Bogue on to meet Davy Jones?” he asked, startling Goodnight. Goodnight turned, a slow rotation, to look at him, eyes wide and with a fear in them that Sam hadn’t seen in years.

“You’re all going to be dead, this time tomorrow, Sam. And I can’t—” Goodnight glanced away, at some spot on the docks, as if it was easier talking to the spot than it was to him. “And don’t think that I don’t know why you’re here.”

Sam stiffened at the reminder, at the flash of memory of his sisters and his mother. He winced in remembered pain, flexing his hand against the pull of scar tissue on his wrist, the phantom heat of the brand against his skin. He’d known Goodnight was still hurting, still haunted by his time in the Marines, but he hadn’t expected to have that hurt turned on him like this.

“If you abandon these people, Goody, you’re going to be disappointing more than just them. Or me,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the _Fleur-de-lis_ where Billy could be seen sitting on the bridge railing, the faint glow of a cigarette barely visible in the distance. “I need you.”

“I can’t fight, Sam. I can’t stop hearing—I can’t _do_ this,” Goodnight said, his ghosts almost visible in the low light as his shoulder sagged. “I’ve become everything I’ve hated, everything I’ve despised. I’m faint-hearted, I’m a coward, and I’m running.” He gasped and Sam reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder.

There was a plea in Goodnight’s face, one that begged Sam to let him go, and Sam did, stepping back and tucking his hand back in his pocket. Goodnight nodded and straightened to a military stance Sam had thought was worn out of him.

“You remember me as I was. Not like this,” he said and continued down the dock as if Sam had never stopped him.

Whatever part of him was disappointed in Goodnight was small in comparison to the part of him that wished only he could have helped instead. That he’d found a way for Goodnight to get past his problems without drinking all the time, that he’d found some way to work through what scars the Marines had left on him. If they all survived this mess, he might pay another visit to Tia Dalma and see what she could do.

The rest of the Lords, barring Billy, were sitting nearby, clearly having overheard what happened. None of them seemed upset or angry, though there was more pity in their faces than he suspected Goodnight would feel comfortable with.

“Anyone else wants out, feel free to leave,” he said, because it was the time to get out, if they chose. None of them moved, just waited and watched him, like he was the King and not Emma, who was curled into Teddy’s side in a way he hadn’t seen in all the time they’d spent on the _Vengeance_. “Alright, then. At dawn.”

\---

It was cold that morning, fog hanging over the decks like an unpleasant omen. There was a stillness to the air like before the fight in Nassau, the calm before the storm. Even as non-religious as he was, Faraday prayed that, if Calypso was out there, she was on their side today. They needed all the help they could get.

They’d left Shipwreck as fast as the wind would take them, sails trimmed for speed, and Faraday was perched on the shroud like Jack on his shoulder, eyes on the horizon. Vasquez’s _Maria_ was to his right, on the starboard side, and if he turned, he’d see Vasquez in a similar position. The _Gilded Rose_ was to his left, where Emma stood, shoulders straight, and looked every inch the King she was. Somewhere to her left was the _Vengeance_ , where Sam waited, hoping for some form of his ship’s namesake.

The _North Star_ was far to his right, past Vasquez’s ship, and the _Arrow_ was on the opposite side, with fire ships between all of them, piloted by people who volunteered for the suicide run they were on. There were others behind them, run by captains who had no problem answering to the Lords or the King, many of whom had jumped at the chance to wreak some kind of revenge against Bogue and the Marines. It wasn’t a half-bad armada, even if it would be nothing like what Bogue had pulled together.

And there—on the horizon, white sails struggled against the wind, which favoured the Court and its people.

Waiting was the hardest part, the slow burn of anticipation eating away at him. He twitched, thumb rubbing over the handle of his gun, and watched as the distance closed. When they were close enough, Emma signalled for them to stop and the first round of fire ships to go first, smaller ships, maybe the size of a schooner, packed with more explosives than Faraday had bottles of alcohol. Bogue had never had any such strategy, it seemed, since many of the East India Company ships continued to sail out to meet them. Bogue’s flagship was one of the few to stay behind.

When the fire ships exploded, they took out almost a third of Bogue’s armada in a mess of fire, smoke and splintered, smoldering wood. The explosion rippled out, making waves that knocked the remaining ships off-kilter. Faraday watched the soldiers scramble through his spyglass, watched the crews attempt to tie down barrels and crates that hadn’t been secured well enough before. He turned the spyglass to the water near where the ships had blown and saw that, as expected, none of them had bothered trying to save themselves, going down with their ships.

As the remaining ships got close, Faraday dropped to the deck and began calling orders, making his way to the helm and staring at the ships as if he could stare down the people steering them and scare them into turning away.

“Trim sail and prepare to fire all cannons,” he yelled, wrapping his hands around the wheel and _waiting_. Time had slowed to a crawl, watching the ships approach and the distance close. Faraday took care when steering, navigating between the ships like thread through a needle. Once the prow passed the mainmast on the ships on either side, he took a deep breath and called out for them to fire, hearing the order echoed on either side of him.

Even as the ships splintered, they got enough shots off to rock the _Maria_ and almost knock him over. He steadied himself and felt the movement of the ship before yelling for Barry.

“Damage check?” he asked and Barry vanished below deck. The next ships weren’t far off and Faraday wanted to be ready. He called out for anyone available to prepare to board the oncoming ships and abandon the _Maria_. They could fire a second round, but the ship wouldn’t hold for long afterwards. He’d left his possessions at Shipwreck, so there was nothing for him but the ship itself and as many years, as much effort as he put into her, he could rebuild her. Vasquez said he’d had three _Maria_ s, so Faraday could too.

\---

When Faraday’s _Maria_ went down, the part of Sam that remained detached from everything wondered if Jack would survive. He was reasonably sure that the monkey was immortal, but he wasn’t certain and hoped that, either way, he wasn’t responsible for it. The rest of him hoped that Faraday had managed to make it out alive and ended up on another ship. He couldn’t tell from this distance, though, and focused back on the Marines boarding his ship.

Ship combat was always a mess, but at least boarding was easier to deal with, he thought, drawing his sword. The Marines were, per usual, not very well trained and still taught to attempt to use their rifles first and the swords second, so Sam cut his way through a dozen of them, ducking and sliding past bayonets to stab them before withdrawing his sword and moving onto the next few.

A number of cannons went off to his right and he looked up to see the ship between the _Vengeance_ and the _Gilded Rose_ splinter and go up in smoke, Emma looking smug on the other side, even as she twirled, her blade flashing in the light, sword clashing with another soldier’s. He nodded at her, grateful, and turned to focus on the soldiers spilling off of the other ship.

It was loud and chaotic, the cries of pain when someone got hurt, the noise of gunfire and cannon fire, the ear-splitting crash of swords coming together. But the Marines didn’t know how to use the ship to fight, didn’t know how to handle fighting on a ship as well as they did, and for every man they lost, he’d taken down at least two soldiers.

Something went off, a gun from behind him, but he ignored it. The deck of the _Vengeance_ was busy enough that Sam didn’t even notice what happened until there was a hand on his shoulder and Goodnight’s voice in his ear, asking, “Think Billy will forgive me?”

Sam sighed in relief at the sound and shrugged in response, ducking to avoid a soldier’s sword aiming for his neck and stepping aside to let another do the work for him. Billy had probably forgiven him the second he decided to leave, but he didn’t say that because if Sam knew it, Goodnight knew it. Instead he focused on the fight in front of him and called for his crew to fire on the port-side ship. There was a voice that was audible even over the ringing in Sam’s ears and before he knew it, Billy landed on the deck in front of him. Sam wordlessly pointed in Goodnight’s direction before turning away. The crew had cut down most of the remaining Marines, so Sam retrieved his spyglass to check on the others.

Emma and Teddy were still doing fine, standing back-to-back as they dealt with the soldiers around them. Past them was Vasquez, who appeared to be holding his own just fine, though there was blood blooming from a cut on his left arm. He couldn’t make out what was going on on Horne’s ship, but it seemed still in a way that was worrisome. On the opposite side was Red Harvest, who ended up against a lieutenant of Bogue’s in a one-on-one fight that looked _personal_. Sam wasn’t sure what caused the fury on Red Harvest’s face, but he didn’t want to know.

When one of the crew called out about an approaching ship, Billy and Goody swung back over to the _Fleur-de-lis_ to ready the guns for another round. The ship was Bogue’s flagship and it made short work of the _Fleur-de-lis_ with its bow cannons, smashing the ship to pieces, some of them so small that they fluttered in the wind and fell to the deck of the _Vengeance_.

The detached part of him splintered at the loss of Goodnight and Billy, but he made himself put his feelings aside. There would be time to mourn later, at Shipwreck, when they would drink and eat and share ridiculous tales of misadventures and let themselves cry in private. He still had to repay a very old debt and wouldn’t be able to do that if he couldn’t focus.

“Prepare to board,” he called as Bogue’s ship came closer and checked on his pistol. Twenty years, he’d carried the single shot, and he aimed to use it by the time the sun set on the horizon.

It might have just been the mood Sam was in, so close to getting the vengeance he’d named his ship after, but the Marines on Bogue’s flagship seemed almost disappointing as he cut his way through them. They didn’t seem to put up as much of a challenge as he’d expected. Even the ones closest to the cabin doors only took a swing and a stab before they were sprawled on the ground, bleeding from the gaping holes in their chest.

Sam tested the door knob first, unsurprised when it didn’t open, took a moment to wipe the blood off his blade. He’d waited decades, another moment wouldn’t hurt. When his sword was clean and back in its sheath, he stepped back and raised a foot, kicking at the spot where the latch was. The door burst open, swinging inward and revealing Bogue sitting at his desk, as skinny and sour-faced as Sam remembered.

“Which one are you?” Bogue asked, sounding like he didn’t remember, didn’t have any clue as to who Sam was. “Wait, wait, you’re Chisolm, aren’t you? Are we connected?”

There was movement and Sam pulled his gun on Bogue before Bogue could fire the pistol he’d drawn under the desk. When Bogue’s finger twitched, Sam fired, knocking the gun from his hand and leaving it a mutilated mess. Some part of Sam, the part that was still a child missing his family, felt a twisted sense of pleasure over seeing Bogue so disfigured.

“September the eighteenth, 1695, outside of Anguilla,” Sam recited, dropping the gun he’d carried since that day. “Your ship attacked a merchant vessel under the claim of it being pirates in disguise, correct?”

“They were. No legitimate merchant vessel comes across that much gold without illegalities,” Bogue said, as if it was justification for what he did. Sam’s fingers twitched over the hilt of his sword, the urge to just give up and run him through a tempting one.

“My mother was one of those merchants,” he said and watched Bogue’s flinch with some satisfaction. “You had her _keelhauled_ for speaking up in defence of herself and my sisters.” He moved then, stepping around the desk, and reached for Bogue, even as Bogue scrambled backwards. Sam fisted his hands in Bogue’s collar and lifted him before slamming him down on the desk, head knocking off the wood. His hands moved, releasing the silk of Bogue’s shirt collar and wrapping around his throat. “And this—this is for my sisters, that you had your men hang.”

His fingers tightened, cutting off Bogue’s air, and the same part of him that felt the twisted joy was back, roaring with satisfaction over getting revenge like this, getting to make Bogue suffer like his sisters had. Bogue struggled, pulling at his wrists, flailing against the desktop and knocking things over, legs kicking out, and Sam held on through all of it, watching the life fade from the eyes of the man who had haunted his nightmares for decades.

A shot rang out and Bogue went limp, blood pooling around him.

Sam looked up, furious at the thought of someone robbing him of this, and saw Emma standing there, a pistol in her hand and her own satisfaction on her face.

\---

Bogue was dead.

Despite her hands shaking like a ship in a hurricane, despite the awful nerves that tried to tell her that she’d be no better for doing this, Emma had kept steady and shot him. In the head. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t coming back. Sam had looked angry, for a moment, but it faded in mere seconds, and Emma turned away, tucking her gun back into its holster and looking out at the men on the deck.

It was over. All of that pain and anger and planning and it was _over_. They’d lost Horne, lost Faraday, even Goodnight and Billy, but it was over.

Red Harvest stood on the deck, a cut on his cheek and holding a scarf to it, and looked a little lost. She remembered how betrayed he’d seemed when he’d seen Bogue’s lieutenant and wondered what happened. Vasquez was leaning against the mast, makeshift bandage tied around the cut on his arm, and Jack sat perched on his shoulder, Vasquez’s medallion in his claws. Some part of Emma was relieved to never have to see that monkey again.

And then there was Teddy, standing on the deck of the _Gilded Rose_ and waiting for her. She took the rope one of Sam’s crew held out to her and swung across, dropping to the deck with a final-sounding click of her boot heels on the wood. She climbed the steps to the bridge, where their second, Leni, was at the wheel.

She stood there, for a moment, on the _Rose_ ’s bridge, wood groaning and creaking beneath her feet as the ship rocked with the tide while the sails flapped in the breeze. Her hair was loose from its usual braid, whipping around her face in the sea wind and catching fire in the light of the setting sun, little licks of flame at the edges of her vision. There was a map that had been spread out on a table behind the wheel, that was worn and old and full of mythical treasures and lost islands that any pirate would die for, but she paid it little attention, staring east at the line where the sky met the sea.

“Where to, Em?” Teddy asked, leaning against the table next to her. She glanced at him, saw his eyes resting where hers had, saw the same urge to test their newly-won freedom, and smiled.

“Miss Leni!” Emma called, getting the desired attention. “Bring me that horizon.”

**Author's Note:**

> So. I signed up for this challenge, figuring I’d finish this one WIP I’d had in my folder for months. Instead, I watched Pirates Of The Caribbean and it ended in this. It isn’t a direct adaptation of At World’s End, just pulls key plot elements from it. Mostly because 1: pirates are cool, 2: I loved the concept of the Brethren Court and 3: I really love “Hoist The Colours” and wanted to use it.
> 
> My many, many thanks to Beth for putting up with me talking about this and quoting snippets at her and giving it a read through and listening to me go “wait what the fuck I think I accidentally did [thing].” She put up with a lot. Also, shameless quick plug for her big bang fic: go read "[A Safe Space In Every Tornado](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852840)" because it's amazing.
> 
> Oh, yeah, sorry for the completely accidental implications of Matthew/Emma/Teddy. I swear to god, it wasn’t planned in any way. At the start, anyway. Then I kinda ran with it.
> 
> This fic has a playlist! You can listen to it on Spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1225496857/playlist/6xBipofn7cRSAbfZWlfZ4X?si=Gpk8HkWhSwSogzFvEIcvzw).
> 
> This fic also has no less than three deleted scenes that will be posted at a later date. Two of them are Emma and Teddy and the third is Vasquez and Faraday. All of them were cut for flow/metaphorical time/etc. While they do give some depth to things, they were deemed mostly unnecessary and removed.
> 
> Sea shanties:
> 
> 1: “Jolly sou’wester, boys, steady she goes!” comes from “Fish In The Sea” as performed on the Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag soundtrack.  
> 2: “Weigh-heigh, and up she rises!” is, of course, from the truly iconic “Drunken Sailor” and my personal preferred version is from the Irish Rovers.  
> 3: “She’s lonely on the foreyard, she’s lonely down below, boys!” is from “Roll, Boys, Roll” as performed on the Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag soundtrack.
> 
> +: “We’re rascals, scoundrels, villains and knaves!” comes from “Yo, Ho! (A Pirate’s Life For Me)” from Disney’s Pirates Of The Caribbean ride. I couldn’t resist.


End file.
